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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145050">what if i'm someone you don't want around</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stvrmhondss/pseuds/stvrmhondss'>stvrmhondss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the magicians x narnia [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, author uses italics way too liberally, fair warning eliot is a bit of an asshole in this, he's quite in his feelings, it's time for some big ol', no beta we die like men, there's a shit ton of swearing because that's how we roll around here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:41:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stvrmhondss/pseuds/stvrmhondss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was moody, petty and insecure, everything buried beneath ten layers of bravado and hedonism. Yet another truth. He was also the only man on this planet currently who could make a decent drink. An absolute truth. His self-knowledge was impeccable.</p><p>And yet, despite all of that, he actually hadn’t expected to fuck up this spectacularly.</p><p>or Eliot completely derails what is supposed to be a nice dinner</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caspian (Narnia) &amp; Quentin Coldwater, Caspian (Narnia)/Quentin Coldwater, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the magicians x narnia [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what if i'm someone you don't want around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>During his first few minutes in Narnia, Eliot had thought everything was going to be fine. Sure, their little detour had been entirely unplanned, and they’d had no idea where they actually were until Quentin had seen the lamp post and subsequently had declared they were in C.S. Lewis’ <em>Narnia</em> out of all places, but Eliot had truly thought everything would be ok. That they’d be home in no time. He certainly hadn’t expected the actual prince of Narnia – or king who hasn’t been crowned yet or….whatever – to show up out of nowhere, whisking them all away to his castle, giving them a place to sleep and rest, and helping them find out what had gone wrong with Penny’s inner travel GPS. He hadn’t expected Caspian to take a liking to Quentin and to unrestrainedly flirt with him at every given opportunity. He also hadn’t expected Quentin to be so receptive to it. Yet, after seemingly every corner he turned, in every nook of the royal gardens he escaped to and even on a fucking boat he’d inevitably walk in on Caspian dropping all of his charm at Quentin’s feet and Quentin blushing in response like a goddamn Victorian literature heroine. No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape it – them. It was right out of his nightmares.</p><p>And if Eliot was honest to himself…it hurt. A lot. It felt as if someone had broken open is chest and had reached into it to jab at his heart, over and over and over again, never stopping, never having mercy on him. It was a development he didn’t appreciate. Back on Earth, at Brakebills, when he’d still believed that Quentin was straight and only got flustered whenever Eliot would flirt with him because that’s who he was, awkward and nerdy and simply adorable, it had been easier. It had been <em>fine</em>. Making Quentin’s apparent lack of attraction to men out to be the sole reason for his lack of attraction to <em>Eliot</em> had certainly been kinder on his ego. Now, here in Narnia, with the knowledge that yes, Quentin was indeed attracted to men just not attracted to <em>Eliot</em>, it stung quite a bit more. It also stuffed their drunken, magically-hungover night definitively into the ‘drunken mistakes’ drawer and that hurt almost just as much. The memories of that night – and he had more of those than he’d admit to anyone – had been acting as a kind of beacon of hope that maybe Quentin did like him, wanted <em>more</em> than just a simple friendship. He’d held onto them through the absolutely fucked morning after and the even more fucked journey to Fillory. But, in a way, it hadn’t been that shocking to have even that last piece of somewhat comfort ripped away; it was one thing in a long line of events he liked to call ‘Things The Universe Has Decided To Throw At Eliot Waugh Because For Some Reason Fuck That Guy’. Quite catchy.</p><p>It was one of those truths Eliot knew about himself and his life. The universe had decided to throw as much shit at him as possible because it could. A truth. He managed to fuck up seemingly anything on his own just fine, though. Another truth. The hell that had been a childhood in the middle of nowhere of Indiana had definitely fucked him over enough for him to most likely never have a functioning relationship in his life, except with Margo. Truth. He was moody, petty and insecure, everything buried beneath ten layers of bravado and hedonism. Yet another truth. He was also the only man on this planet currently who could make a decent drink. An absolute truth. His self-knowledge was impeccable.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, despite all of that, he actually hadn’t expected to fuck up this spectacularly.</p><p> </p><p>The evening had started out quite normally. The daily dinner with all of his friends with an addition of Caspian and a couple of his advisors wasn’t something Eliot could actually avoid. He was sulking but he wasn’t stupid – his absence was already noticeable during the day, if he started skipping the evenings as well, someone (Margo) would start asking (even more) questions. Also, he had no idea how else to get his hands on some food. So, dinner it was. It hadn’t even been that bad in the beginning. Seated next to Margo at the long table, he had listened to Alice’s excited chatter about the castle’s extensive library and archives, which had been, admittedly, quite endearing and Penny’s grumpy retelling from Margo’s left of how the scholars of Cair Paravel had poked and prodded at him the entire day with no helpful results yet again. It had been pretty funny. For some reason it hadn’t bothered anyone that they still had no means to return home. Caspian’s hospitality and Cair Paravel’s homey atmosphere were most likely to blame for that. For all his complaining, even Eliot could admit that in reality, it didn’t feel like they were <em>stuck</em> or <em>lost</em> somewhere. Their stay in Narnia had more of a spontaneously extended vacation vibe. All in all, it hadn’t been an awful start to the evening. He should’ve known that it wasn’t going to stay this pleasant.</p><p>Now, that everyone had had their turn at talking about their day as if they were children coming back home from school, it was Quentin’s turn and Eliot dreaded the undoubtedly incoming story of a most definitely <em>romantic</em> adventure with Caspian. He really had absolutely no desire to listen to that. What he did desire was a drink or five.</p><p>“Oh, we went to the Shuddering Wood to visit the centaurs! It was amazing! It’s like they know everything, really, <em>everything</em> – like, the sheer amount of historical knowledge Ironhoof has or-“, Quentin started rambling on, very adorably, and turned to Caspian, hands flailing, “or Cloudbirth – he’s a healer –“, he directed this at the rest of them, “like, how does he <em>remember</em> every herb, like, what it looks like and what it does and- just, how?” Caspian let out a laugh, delighted and eyes honest to god sparkling as if they were in one of those fucking animes he once caught Todd watching at 3am in the Cottage. Eliot’s grip tightened on his fork. <em>Don’t stab him</em>, he thought. <em>If you stab him now you can’t finish your food. Don’t stab him.</em></p><p>“I don’t know why you sound so surprised, to be completely honest. If I remember correctly, you soaked up just about everything he told you.”, Caspian said in response, tone teasing, and he smirked at Quentin. <em>Oh, mother of god</em>. He turned to address the table. “You should’ve seen him. After only ten minutes or so he was able to identify most of the herbs Cloudbirth had on hand. I was <em>very</em> impressed.”, he smirked at Quentin again. Suddenly, the thought of throwing his knife at Caspian became most appealing to Eliot. <em>No, don’t throw the knife</em>, he thought again. <em>Again, no more food and it’ll ruin everyone’s mood including Quentin’s. And we haven’t sunken low enough to do that, yet</em>. Meanwhile Quentin made a noise of protest and ducked his head, his hair falling to cover his face like a curtain. Eliot felt his hand twitch, the urge to brush Quentin’s hair behind his ear a reflex by now. “It- it wasn’t that impressive…”, he murmured from behind his hair. If only Quentin knew that Eliot hadn’t met anyone as impressive as him besides Margo.</p><p>“How many times do we have to go over this? I think you’re very impressive. I really do.”, Caspian said, leaning towards Quentin and voice softening towards the end of his sentence. Eliot thought his grudge against him would be easier and less embarrassing to justify if he weren’t so <em>nice</em>. If only he were more arrogant or mean to his servants or thought lowly of his subjects; but he wasn’t, and he didn’t. Caspian was humble, accepting compliments or praise, however only with an almost shy or flustered incline of his head. He treated Cair Paravel’s staff – the servants, cooks, guards and everyone else – like equals, always speaking to them politely and warmly. And, when they first had been on their way to the castle after the unexpected drop-off in Narnia, Caspian had greeted every Narnian they’d met as if they had been a long-lost friend. There was nothing distinct to actually dislike about him and that alone stirred up Eliot’s lowest impulses to throw a wine goblet at him. It made it obvious, painfully and glaringly so, that Caspian was a better man than Eliot could ever hope to be. A man who was deserving of Quentin’s quips and delightful nerdy rants and the lovely blush of his cheeks when he was complimented. A man who didn’t drink too much or party too hard. A man who didn’t ruin everything he touched.</p><p>Eliot watched as Caspian sat back in his seat and continued. “Well nevertheless, Quentin is right about the centaurs being very knowledgeable. Glenstorm, who fought with us during the revolution, is a well-known prophet and stargazer. He offered to show us some of the constellations when it’s dark. We’re going back to the Shuddering Wood after dinner.” On his left, he saw Margo’s eyebrows rise up to greet her hairline. Opposite him, Alice grinned down at her plate. Eliot was glad to know that they seemed to agree with him about how ridiculous what he just heard was. <em>Stargazing</em>. He wanted to take the sentence and shove it back into Caspian’s mouth. <em>They were going stargazing after dinner</em>. Something baleful and bitter twisted in Eliot’s stomach. <em>Stargazing after dinner</em>. Seriously. How cliché, how corny-</p><p>“How <em>romantic</em>”, he spit the last part out, as if the sentiment were a personal offense. The entire room fell silent, his words ringing louder than he’d expected them too. He looked up and saw Alice staring at him out of the corner of her eye. Margo’s face had turned calm, a clear sign of danger, and Penny had closed his eyes, exasperation radiating off of him. One of the advisors’ eyes had grown comically large. Looking towards the end of the table, he saw Quentin gawking at him incredulously and Caspian sat in his chair completely still, his cup halfway raised to his mouth, and transfixed him with a look. He sat his cup down and intertwined his hands to rest his chin on them. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Would you mind repeating yourself, Eliot?” It was an out and if Eliot were a smart man, he would take it and shut up. But Eliot had never been known for being smart.</p><p>“I said ‘How <em>romantic</em>’”, Eliot gave the word the same emphasis again and watched as a frown appeared on Caspian’s face. <em>Good. Give up the Prince Charming charade. Show me what ugly things are underneath that. </em>“I don’t see how there’s anything wrong with that.”, Caspian replied, “I didn’t take you to be that much of a cynic.” Eliot huffed out a low laugh and mirrored Caspian’s position, hands intertwined and chin resting upon them. He looked right at him. “Well, ‘romantic’ was perhaps the wrong choice of words. How about….’cliché’? Or ‘push-over’? ‘Pathetic’ seems very fitting as well.” Margo kicked his shin underneath the table, hard, and cut him a scolding glare. Alice’s eyes widened at him, silently asking him to stop. The same advisor quietly muttered to himself, “Oh no.” He ignored them all. A smile slowly stretched out over Caspian’s face, but it lacked the usual warmth that came with his smiles. This was ice cold and calculated. It made him look like a lion ready to pounce. Eliot could hear his pulse beating in his ear. He was unsure of what to expect next. “What I do”, Caspian’s voice was calm and steady but there was something boiling, right beneath the surface, “on my own time is <em>none</em> of your concern. Besides, I honestly do not know what exactly your problem is. I have been nothing but perfectly nice to you and yet.” His accent became more pronounced as his anger bubbled to the surface. “<em>And yet</em>, you damn near <em>refuse</em> to talk to me, I don’t even get the curtesy of a ‘Good Morning’ or a ‘Hello’.”, Caspian’s voice gained in volume and a frown of his own came over Eliot’s face. He didn’t owe this guy <em>shit</em>. “Your bad mood sours every get-together, you do not answer when asked a question, you outright ignore me when I’m speaking to you. Really, as far as royal protocol goes, your behavior has been absolutely unbefitting for a king!” The last word echoed through the room and out of the corner of his eye Eliot saw the guards at the door and the servants standing in the shadows flinch in surprise. It seemed as if Caspian had never yelled in their presence before. The few advisors who were seated at the table stared at their king like deer caught in headlights. This appeared to be a new experience for them as well. Next to him, Margo put her head in her hands and muttered low enough so only he could hear, “Jesus <em>motherfucking</em> Christ.” Caspian lowered his hands to the table and sat up straight, shoulders squared, every inch a king. Eliot wanted to dump him into the ocean. It hadn’t even occurred to him that there was supposed to be some sort of protocol to their interactions, the role of High King still too new and unfamiliar to Eliot. After a brief pause, Caspian continued speaking, voice at a regular volume again but breathing heavier, clearly agitated, “Quite frankly, my nerves are running thin and I would suggest you change your attitude before I lose my patience and take the next butter knife to stab you.” White, hot anger shot through Eliot. <em>This fucking guy, </em>he thought<em>. Fucking Prince Charming with his perfect moral code and his outstanding behavior. All of his fucking flirting and his perfectness that’s so fucking appealing to every fucking person in this goddamn castle. This goddamn fairytale prince.</em> <em>He wants to stab me? Let him have at it. </em>“If you’re this eager to put a knife through me, just fight me.”</p><p>Eliot hadn’t expected for things to happen like this: The council member sitting next to Alice, a grey-haired man in his 60s, gasped loudly. One of the servants dropped a tray – it crashed noisily onto the floor, the delicate porcelain teacups on it shattering into a hundred tiny pieces. Caspian, out of all people, stared at him with wide eyes as if he had grown a second head. There was even a brief glow to the air, but Eliot wasn’t sure whether he’d imagined that. He wasn’t entirely surely whether such a dramatic response was warranted here. Caspian rose from his chair and leaned forward over the table, bracing himself on his hands. “You absolute <em>fool</em>! Do you have any idea what you just did?!”, he hissed at him. Eliot gave him a blank look in return. He clearly had no idea what he could’ve possibly done that deserved such dramatics. “I don’t know what it’s like in Fillory but here in Narnia when one king tells another to ‘fight him’ it’s seen as a challenge to a <em>duel</em>.” Wait, what? Eliot vaguely registered Quentin burying his face in his hands, groaning exasperated. Eliot held up his own hands defensively and shook his head, “Oh, no no no no no, that was definitely <em>not</em> what I was doing.” He noticed one of the advisors getting up and whispering something to a servant, the servant hurrying away right after. Eliot felt a cold shiver roll down his spine. Oh, no. What was going on? “It’s too late, it’s done.”, Caspian sat back down and ran a hand through his hair. “What do you mean ‘It’s too late’? No one can actually force us to go through with it. I mean, we’re kings.”, Eliot finished a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t going to actually have to duel Caspian. They were both kings. Who could actually tell them what to do? Write it down as a misunderstanding and move on. “For god’s sake, Eliot!”, Alice suddenly exploded, and he snapped his head around to look at her, “The duel – it’s ancient magic! One of the scholars told me about it. You have to go through with it, otherwise it’s going to kill both of you.” So, he hadn’t imagined that glow after all, it must have been the magic locking into place. Eliot could only stare at her. This couldn’t be happening. Eliot was not going to have to fight a man who had fought in and won a revolution. This wasn’t happening.</p><p>For the first time since Eliot and Caspian had started arguing, Quentin spoke, “Alice, please tell me that’s a joke. Please tell me you’re kidding me right now.”, his voice was strained and tense, as if his vocal cords were about to tear. Oh, he’d fucked up. He had just spectacularly fucked up. “Unfortunately, she isn’t.”, Caspian replied put a comforting hand on Quentin’s shoulder, “Our ancestors put this spell in place ages ago. It’s supposed to ensure a civilized and respectful relation between visiting royalty. Both the threat of having to duel each other and of what would happen if you didn’t go through with the fight, is supposed to deter from disrespectful behavior.” Margo fixed him with a withering stare, but Caspian didn’t budge. If Eliot’s mind hadn’t been preoccupied with processing the fact that he was going to have to fight a duel against another king, he would’ve been impressed. Very few men could stand Margo’s glare. “So, what’s the deal here?”, she asked him, anger apparent in her voice, but Eliot knew that that anger wasn’t directed at Caspian. Margo was going to kick his ass as soon as they were alone. “Is this like a trial by combat situation? Winner lives, loser dies?”</p><p>“No, technically it’s not.”, Caspian said in response, “It says nowhere that someone actually has to die, although when these duels have happened in the past, people were more inclined to kill. It was an honor thing.”, he made a face at that, “By the rules it’s really more of a ‘fight until someone clearly loses or goes through the mortifying ordeal of surrendering’ kind of thing.” Margo sat back in her chair and sighed a little. She didn’t sound relieved but rather annoyed. “Well, at least that’s something.” Eliot gawked at the circle of people around the table. This had to be a joke. “So, we actually have to do this? We actually have to fight this out?”, he couldn’t keep his voice from shaking a little and he got a quick look of sympathy from Alice. He was tempted to ask her to pinch him. This couldn’t be real.</p><p>“Yes, we have to, thanks to you.”, there was no sympathy in Caspian’s eyes. Maybe he deserved that. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a council to calm down and a duel to prepare for. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Caspian got up and turned in the direction of the door but before walking away he stopped to put a hand on top of Quentin’s head and leaned down to kiss the back of it. “Good night. Try to get some rest.”, he told him softly. He got a delicate ‘good night’ from Quentin in return. As soon as Caspian was out the door, Penny got up as well. “I know this is about to be a major shit show in here, so I’m gonna peace out and get as far away from you people as possible. See ya.”, he said and strolled out of the room. One by one the servants hurried away as well until only Quentin, Margo, Alice and Eliot were left sitting at the table. He hadn’t even noticed the advisors leaving. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, tense and charged. Eliot dared a glance at Quentin; his eyes were closed and he was breathing hard, the thumb of his right hand jumping back and forth between the rest of his fingers, from index to pinky, tapping each one once and then starting over. It looked as if he were counting to calm himself. Margo was staring straight ahead at the wall, refusing to look at him. It dawned on Eliot that he’d gotten himself into some deep shit this time.</p><p>Alice’s gaze flitted from his face to Margo’s to Quentin’s, again and again. She seemed nervous. <em>Oh, you and me both, Alice, you and me both</em>. “Well,”, she started, “I’m going to- go back to the library.”, she vaguely gestured with her thumb over her shoulder towards the door. “I’ll see if I can find anything that could help you, Eliot. I’ll see you guys later.” She hurried so quickly to the exit she might as well have <em>run</em> out of the room. Right before she was out the door, he remembered to thank her. She stopped to give him a small smile. It wasn’t very reassuring, but he appreciated it, nevertheless. The door hadn’t even properly closed yet when Margo shot out of her chair forcefully enough to send it flying backwards. She started pacing from one end of the table to the other, once, twice, three times and then came to a stop next to Quentin. “What the actual <em>fuck</em>, Eliot?”, she hissed at him, “Was it really necessary to antagonize the fucking <em>king</em> of the country we’re currently in? What were you thinking?” Before he could say something, anything really, she held up a finger to silence him. She clearly hadn’t been aiming for an actual answer. “I don’t even want to hear it. Obviously, you weren’t thinking at all. I was okay with letting you sulk in a corner all day because of your shitty mood but if you actually think you’re justified to virtually cause an international incident because of your fucking jeal-“, she stopped abruptly and threw a quick glance at Quentin next to her. God, Eliot loved her. She looked and sounded like she was ready to tear him to pieces for his stupidity and yet she refrained from calling him out on the obvious source of his dumb decisions: his feelings for the man sitting next to her. She looked away from Quentin and then changed course, “Eliot, you could get seriously <em>hurt</em>.” To anyone else she might’ve looked just furious, but he saw the worry in her big brown eyes, behind the anger, and he loved her fiercely for it. “Bambi, I’m gonna be fine. I mean, you heard him – we don’t actually have to kill each other. It’s gonna be <em>fine</em>.”</p><p>“You don’t <em>know</em> that.”, she sounded almost desperate, “He could still seriously injure you, or kill you. Accidents happen, Eliot.” The realization crashed over him like a bucket of ice water. The blade of a sword could slip or hit the wrong spot. He could be too slow to block a swing at him. He didn’t even know how to actually fight with a sword. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? How could he have been <em>this</em> stupid? He felt his eyes widen and glanced up at Margo, hoping she would understand; understand how sorry he was and how much he appreciated her crisis management right now. “Bambi, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“, he didn’t actually know what he had thought. But of course, Margo knew exactly what he was trying to say. She stepped over to him and took his face into her hands. “I don’t think you actually thought anything, baby. You’re dumb like that.”, he heard it for what it was – ‘<em>You’re stupid and I love you. I got this</em>.’ She leaned down to kiss his cheek, moving away from him after and walked towards the door. “I’m gonna go find Alice and help her try to figure this mess out.”, she patted Quentin’s head as she passed by, “Try not to murder him, Baby Q. It’s tempting I know, but we need him.” A little wave of her fingers and Margo was gone, leaving Quentin and him to be the last men standing – or sitting, in their case. Silence encompassed the room yet again and Eliot, in an attempt to desperately try to avoid this very conversation, let his gaze wander through the dining room – or hall, really. Giant cathedral-style windows were set into the wall opposite him, a pair of big red curtains decorating each one; during the day they granted a quite beautiful view over the gardens. The other three walls were paneled half-way up their height with dark oakwood panels, the rest painted in a soft cream color. Paintings lined them in irregular intervals and Eliot knew at least some of them had to be depicting the Pevensie Kings and Queens he’d heard about, but he had no idea which ones. He hadn’t really paid attention when they’d been given a tour of the castle, too distracted by Caspian’s never-ending flirting with Quentin. It had been like a car accident – he hadn’t wanted to hear it, he hadn’t wanted to see it, but he hadn’t been able to look away or stop eavesdropping. The memory of a deeply flushed Quentin drew his gaze away from the décor and back to him. His eyes remained closed and his thumb was still tapping his other fingers. Eliot could practically feel the fury radiating off of him and his continued silence made him twitchy. He couldn’t stand this kind of quiet, tense and ready to crack at any given moment.</p><p>“Q, please. I- say something, please.”, the words must’ve been barely audible but to Eliot it felt like they echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls. It was so goddamn <em>quiet</em>. Quentin’s hand stilled and his eyes snapped open. He could see the fire burning behind them and swallowed, feeling the need to pray to whomever was listening that their friendship – their <em>something</em> – would make it out of this alive. He could only watch as Quentin took a deep breath and started speaking, “What exactly do you expect me to say, Eliot?” He looked as if he was able to stop himself from screaming at him just so. <em>Fuck</em>. “No, really. What am I supposed to say? I- I- I actually have no words to describe how impossible you’re being!”, he jumped out of his chair and started pacing back and forth. <em>Shit</em>. “Are you not capable of keeping your mouth shut for five minutes? This is serious. Do you even know how to fight with a sword?”, as established, Eliot did, in fact, not, “You could get hurt! <em>Caspian</em> could get hurt! And for what? Just so you can be an asshole to him?”, he broke off, breathing heavily and came to a stop exactly opposite him with only the table between them. Eliot rummaged through his brain for something, <em>anything</em> to salvage this absolute clusterfuck of a situation. After only being able to barely save his friendship with Quentin after the threesome he refused to let it crash and burn because of something like this – because of himself not being able to shut the fuck up when he should have. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt him, Q.”, he tried for a lighthearted tone, attempting to hint at a joke about his evident lack of knowledge about sword fighting and duels. He’d never be able to hold his own against Caspian, far less actually hurt him. He watched his words reach Quentin and land completely wrong. “Oh, fuck you, Eliot.”, he spit out. <em>Oh no. No, no, no</em>. “You’re <em>unbelievable</em>! You literally just enacted an ancient magical duel rule and you want to talk about Caspian and me? Really?”, his voice broke at the end and Eliot squeezed his eyes shut for a second. No, he really didn’t want to talk about <em>Caspian and Quentin</em>. In fact, he could live the rest of his entire fucking life without ever talking about <em>Caspian and Quentin</em>. “So, maybe he likes me. Maybe I like him, too. It’s literally none of your business. Why do you care?”, he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. Eliot <em>really</em> didn’t want to hear this. Before he could stop himself, he hissed almost venomous, “Yeah, right. ‘<em>Maybe’</em>.”</p><p>He immediately halted, eyes wide, and watched carefully as Quentin froze, one eyebrow raised and a deep frown on his face. “No, please. Do continue.” A part of him knew that continuing was just about the dumbest thing he could do right now but the other, louder part of him – the part that had stewed in his bad mood for weeks now, the part that had watched how Quentin blushed at every compliment he’d get from Caspian daily, the part that had borne the brunt of every jab at his heart the entire time – had enough and was ready to let off the steam that had accumulated. “<em>’Maybe he likes me</em>’, he practically lies at your feet like a dog waiting to get belly scratches. It’s embarrassing to watch how hard he tries. ‘<em>Oh, Quentin, I think you’re very impressive</em>.’”, he fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly in a bad impression of Caspian. “You’d only have to snap your fingers once and he’d jump into the next bed with you. ‘<em>Maybe he likes you</em>’, Jesus fucking Christ.” Quentin’s mood seemed to shift slightly at that, the undertone of his anger turning from irritation to offense. He uncrossed his arms and leaned on the table, staring him down. Eliot abruptly had the urge to backpedal and take back everything he’d said just now. “Is it really so strange to you”, the look on Quentin’s face had shifted and he sounded exhausted, as if this whole conversation had aged him by ten years, “that someone is genuinely attracted to me? That someone likes me? Is that really such a weird concept for you to wrap your head around? Just because you don’t think I’m attractive doesn’t mean you get to mock someone else for doing so! Do you not understand how- how <em>insulting</em> that is? How much it <em>hurts</em> to hear that? Do I need to draw you a sketch to explain to you how fucking unbelievable you’re being?”</p><p>“Q, I-“, but Quentin interrupted him.</p><p>“No! You’ve been acting like an absolute asshole for weeks. You’ve pretty much ignored me the entire time! You’ve been snappy and moody and just- frustrating to be around. On top of that you’ve been extremely rude and fucking <em>childish</em> to a man who’s been nothing but kind to you, to all of us. And all of that just because he flirts with me? Are you fucking serious?”, his tone of voice was a mix of anger, irritation and what hauntingly sounded to Eliot like pain. He was at a loss for words. He knew he needed to say something, now, before it was too late, before this idea of Eliot thinking so lowly of Quentin could take hold of Quentin’s head. Yet, he couldn’t seem to get his vocal cords to cooperate, couldn’t get anything out of his mouth, no sentence, no word, no sound. He just sat there, staring at Quentin with wide eyes, everything that he’d just said running through his head at lightning speed. <em>Quentin thinks I don’t find him attractive. He cares whether I find him attractive or not. He thinks I was making fun of Caspian for liking him. I </em>hurt<em> him, I </em>hurt<em> Quentin</em>. As the silence stretched on and on and on, Quentin’s eyes welled up, his bottom lip starting to quiver. Eliot felt helpless in the face of it, the sight of Quentin in tears absolutely devastating. Why couldn’t he just <em>say</em> something?</p><p>Quentin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I truly hope”, he opened his eyes again and looked straight at him, “Caspian knocks you on your ass tomorrow.” With that he stormed out of the room without sparing him another glance. Eliot jumped when he slammed the door shut. He leaned over, pushing his plate away, and resting his arms on the table in its place. He shut his eyes, burying his head in his hands and let out a shaky breath. There was no other noise except for that of his own breathing. The silence was deafening. The food had gone cold. Eliot let out a sigh, tears stung in his eyes. <em>What the fuck have I done?</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and in that moment eliot realized: he fucked up. </p><p>asdjfkg n e ways, i've come out of the woodwork again to bring you my magicians/narnia shenanigans, and hey! we're getting closer and closer to the actual queliot of it all!! progress!!</p><p>as always, you can check out the highlight with our au videos here: https://twitter.com/i/events/1264638104385646593</p><p>for general magicians x narnia screaming look to @sophistray @wow__then and me, @stvrmhondss on twitter.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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